


Scraped

by everybreathagift



Series: Chafed [4]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Homophobic Language, Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-17 23:02:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11278578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everybreathagift/pseuds/everybreathagift
Summary: Maybe it shouldn't still hurt. Maybe Mickey should be numb by now. Maybe his skin shouldn't be so tough.





	Scraped

**Author's Note:**

> Only one more to go after this. Still not beta-ed. Still sad as fuck. Still madly in love with Mickey Milkovich.

Mickey thinks it’s pretty odd, how one can fear can replace another. Walking down the street, his shoulder bumping against Ian’s on every step, and yet, he’s not scared. Ten years ago, he wouldn’t have even been seen on the street with someone as soft as a Gallagher, let alone so close. Terry had eyes everywhere and Mickey felt words like ‘queer’ and ‘faggot’ as hard as Terry’s fists when he fucked up on a run or breathed the wrong direction. 

Now, though, he’d curb stomp any motherfucker that dared to turn their nose up at them. Terry’s gone and Mickey doesn’t have to be afraid anymore. At least, not about that. Now, he’s scared of waking up alone, going to sleep alone, his son hating him, dying alone. Sometimes, he thinks the fear of Terry was much, much easier. 

“Ice cream or Patsy’s Pies?” 

“Neither,” Mickey says, regretfully. “We gotta get Yev soon and I don’t feel like takin’ the fuckin’ bus.” 

“We’re gonna walk all the way to the field?” 

“You’re not gettin’ old on me, are you, Gallagher?” 

Ian grins and punches him in the shoulder. Mickey’s pretty sure that the stars should be jealous. “Fuck you, bitch, you’re older than me, remember?” 

“Yeah, but I’m still pretty.” 

“Ian!” 

They both turn toward the voice and Mickey feels like he’s got ice water in his veins because no one that looks at Ian like that is just a friend of Ian’s. There’s no fucking way he’s just a coworker or something less than that. As though Mickey needed more confirmation, he feels Ian stiffen next to him.  

“Hey, Trev,” Ian says with a smile that makes Mickey’s skin crawl. 

Trev. Trevor. The motherfucker that Ian had been with when Mickey escaped. The guy Ian went back to. The son of a bitch that he’d left Mickey for. 

This guy, this fucking guy, has the nerve to touch him. To pull Ian into a hug and Ian hugs back and Mickey remembers that he’s a fugitive and a grown man and has no right to gut someone for a hug. But it’s warm and more than friendly. Mickey chews on his cheek and reminds himself that he has no fucking right. None. He doesn’t own Ian. Ian isn’t a fucking possession. He’s a person with relationships outside of Mickey and it’s not Ian’s fault that Mickey was taught by force a long time ago that friends are no good and old habits die hard. 

“How ya’ been, man?” Trevor asks, smiling wide and fuck, Mickey can tell that people would find him attractive. He couldn’t have been ugly because that would’ve been fucking easy. Mickey crosses his arms over his chest and wishes he could disappear. 

“I’ve been great. Really great.” And never mind, the stars aren’t even in the same realm and if anything should be jealous of Ian’s smile, it should be the fucking sun. “Trevor, this is Mick. Mickey.” 

So, he’s supposed to shake the dude’s hand, he knows, Mickey knows because that’s what civilized people do but fuck that, he  _ hates  _ him. He hates the way he looks and sounds and the way he smiles at Ian like he’s allowed too. Like it’s not a privilege. Mickey’s throat feels too tight and he really fucking hopes Ian can’t tell how hard he’s struggling to breathe. 

“Ah,” Trevor grins and Mickey clenches his fist and remembers how the waves sounded at sunset. “ _ The  _ Mickey.” And what the fuck does that mean? Yeah, Mickey, the motherfucker that has Ian for now and will happily beat- “Good to finally meet you. Now I see why you had this one tied up in knots for so long.” 

Fine, Mickey feels like a fucking asshole and hates that this guy couldn’t even be a fucking asshole himself. No, he’s gotta be nice and good looking and Mickey doesn’t want to think about Ian finding Mickey’s opposite but he does anyway and it fucking hurts. 

“Hey,” Mickey says quietly, wishing his chest didn’t feel so tight at the realization that Ian and Trevor look good next to one another. Trevor probably took him on dates and held his hand and never made Ian watch while he fucked a Russian whore, got married, pushed Ian away over and over. Probably never kicked Ian’s teeth in. Probably never left Ian to wonder where he was when Ian was lying in bed, ready to fucking give up. Probably never broke Ian’s heart. 

Trevor doesn’t even try to shake Mickey’s hand and that just makes everything worse because Mickey’s sure all of his fucked up thoughts must be written on his face. 

He bets Trevor loved him. He bets Ian loved him back. 

“Still savin’ lives, huh?” 

“Trying,” Ian laughs and God, it’s all that stupid girly shit Mandy used to talk about when she was twelve and hung up on the kid down the street. It’s music and Mickey’s happiness all rolled into one stupid fucking chuckle and it’s not directed at Mickey. “What about you?” 

Trevor tells him and Mickey can see them together, doing all that do-gooder shit with one another and Mickey wonders for the sixteenth time today why Ian is there, with him. With Mickey. Ian’s smiling and nodding his head and Mickey just wants to lock him in a room and keep him away from the rest of the world and anything that could open his fucking eyes to what Mickey is.

Ian’s always known, though, and Mickey knows his time his limited. It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. Aren’t people supposed to get used to shit after exposure or something? 

Trevor goes on about his  _ kids  _ and  _ sobriety  _ and Mickey has to swallow hard and look away because surely Ian won’t pick him when it’s all said and done, right? He won’t pick Mickey but it can’t be this guy either. It just can’t. 

“Take care of him, Mickey, he’s one of the good ones.” 

But fuck this guy, though, because that’s bullshit. Ian isn’t  _ one of the good ones _ . The fuck does that even mean? Ian is unpredictable and cocky and a shot of whiskey at four in the morning and the best weed you’ve ever smoked. He’s all the time Mickey spent looking at the water. He’s the last time Mickey helped his mother cook. He’s fucking _life_. He’s _everything_ so this motherfucker can take his ‘good ones’ and go fuck himself. 

Mickey starts walking because his body’s trying to key up for a fucking fight that he knows can’t happen. Ian would never forgive him and it’s fucking bullshit anyway. Mickey’s just an insecure little bitch these days. And to further prove that point, he’s not any more than twenty feet away when all the energy leaves him and he has to find a place to sit or he’s gonna throw up or run back and beat the hell out of that guy for nothing. He’s gonna fucking cry. 

“So, that’s the guy, huh?” Mickey asks, trying to focus on the burning smoke in his lungs rather than the burning in his eyes.  

“Yeah,” Ian says quietly, like he’s regretting something and Mickey wants to crush whatever that something is beneath his torn up boot because Ian should never look or sound or be unhappy about anything. 

And Mickey’s gotta ask, just like he had to ask if he’d ever see his mother’s face again or if Mandy had meant it when she’d called him a worthless piece of shit. He’s gotta know. “Were you, uh… were you  _ trying  _ to get someone as far away from me as fuckin’ possible or… it just happen?” 

But Ian’s not dumb so of course he was. Why the fuck would he want someone like Mickey? 

“I wasn’t trying. But no one is like you, Mick.” 

But Mickey’s not dumb so of course there is. Why the fuck would he ever be special? 

“There’s plenty of hardened pimps around here, Gallagher, you’re just not lookin’ hard enough.” 

“Hey…” 

“Nah, fuck it,” Mickey cuts him off quick because he  _ can’t  _ listen to Ian make excuses for him. He can’t. His lip is already fucking trembling and he can’t let Ian see what he’s turned into. “It’s whatever. It’s fine. You’re with me right now, not him.” And Mickey doesn’t beg Ian to stay because he doesn’t fucking want him to stay out of pity for Mickey’s pussy ass. “ I’m not stupid. I know I’m not the better choice. I’m not out there saving the troubled youth of America. But uh… when you- when you leave, don’t pick him, okay? He’s boring, and you’re like, rainbows and shit. Need someone to keep you on your toes, yeah?”

  _Stay, please, stay. _

Mickey doesn’t cry because his son would notice. Mickey doesn’t let Ian tell him half-truths and half-lies about not leaving and staying. Mickey doesn’t have a panic attack in the middle of the day on the fucking street and wish he could smell his mom’s stolen perfume. 

But he does squeeze Ian’s hand tight enough to hurt and selfishly, desperately, stays by Ian’s side the rest of the day. Because maybe he won’t leave if he sees that Mickey isn’t  _ real _ when Ian’s gone. 

And when Mickey pretends to go to sleep that night, he thinks of that fucking guy and how Ian won’t be there when he wakes up. Turns out, Mickey doesn’t really need sleep at all. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments always greatly appreciated!


End file.
